


A Wasteland Classic

by hiraethy



Category: Enemy at the Gates (2001), Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Inspired by Mad Max Series (Movies), M/M, Mad Max AU, Post-Apocalypse, Pre-Mad Max: Fury Road
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 19:49:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7520878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiraethy/pseuds/hiraethy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danilov and Vassili, road warriors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> idk this was a thing i had to do  
> ask no questions
> 
> of ccourse inspired by the movies but also by the 2015 video game, which is really cool.

The first thing the sniper saw was the dust. Vaporous columns stretched against the horizon.  
It was not the dust of the sandstorm that was coming from the north. The smaller clouds of dust came from the south.  
It was an usual view. Plunderers and scavengers were perpetually roaming the Wasteland, cheasing each other for supplies, fleeing from enemies, competing for dominance.  
There was nothing alarming about seeing distant menaces, but there was something alarming about dust becoming bigger and engine roars growing stronger. Plus, there was a sandstorm coming.  
The sniper jumped into place, rifle armed. He gazed into the viewfinder. Three or four vehicles, not more. They were coming his way.  
"Motherfuckers."

The driver knew what he must do, and that he must do it quick. Driving towards the oncoming sandstorm did nothing to scare his pursuers. The rocks on the horizon were his last chance to leave them behind.  
As he reached the brief canyon, he drove into the red stone crests steering his car recklessly, wishing to hear at least one loud crash coming from behind him. But the three cars hunting him continued their ride.  
He swerved violently to his left to avoid a huge boulder but couldn't avoid the protruding rocky side. His chasers hit the boulder hard, one after another.  
A wave of adrenaline flowed thorught the driver as he jumped off his almost crashed vehicle and grabbed his hand gun. He shot in the face one of the chasers who had just leapt to grab him.  
One bullet.  
The little man dropped a fire bomb that didn't explode right away. The driver grabbed it fast as lightining and the next second there was one of Them writhing and squirming in the fire.  
Another one yelled in anger and delirium and threw himself to the driver, who shot him in the knee before being overturned and hit the rocky ground.  
Two bullets. None left.  
The man yelled in pain as he held his mangled leg. The driver got up and kicked his head with dreadful anger until he was certain the pursuer moved no longer.  
The last one of Them grabbed him from behind.  
The driver felt his throat surrounded by hands that closed in a fatal grip. He uselessly wriggled for some instants until he felt his side being pierced.  
The fear of being eviscerated in a dusty canyon and left to rotten tuned instantly into anger.  
He elbowed the chaser with all the living force that remained in him and wriggled free.  
He punched the man in the face and yelled at the piercing pain he felt in the bones of his hand. The chaser turned to him with a frightening glare of madness and rage. There was blood coming out of his nose and mouth. He charged upon the driver to give vent to his wrath.  
And then the driver heard a hiss through the canyon and the moment later his opponent was down, a mushy hole in the perfect centre of his head.  
The driver held his breath in disbelief.  
He put his hands up and remained still.  
That was one hell of a sniper.

That was a lame driver.  
He had ruined his car, scratched it horribly and crashed it against the canyon. The damage was remarkable but at least nothing had exploded or catched fire.  
Well, nothing but the guy that was still burning on the ground.  
The one he shot in the face lay with his face mushed into pieces, the one he brutally kicked had passed out and was bleeding to death.  
The man he was aiming at shure knew how to punch his way through hell.  
"I mean no harm," The lame driver was speaking up, hands raised above his head. His breath was still heavy. His side was wounded and oozed blood.  
"I mean no harm." He repeated, eyeing cautiously all around him.  
"I seek shelter." he turned around. "Shelter from the storm. Then I will leave."  
The sniper charged his rifle.

The driver stood in place for some more time. His wound was sore, his head was pounding and he was shaking.  
The adrenaline had flown away and standing up was becoming difficult. The driver staggered while turning around to catch a glimpse of his new foe, even if he knew that it was impossible to find a sniper in his territory if he didn't want to be found.  
The storm was near. The air was heavier and dirtier. There was a sudden not so distant rumble of a thunder and the head of the driver snapped in that direction.  
Sandstorms were the worst.  
As his mind populated with memories of lightning, dusty fog and vanished horizons, he tuned back to the canyon to see an approaching figure aiming at him.  
The sniper's face was hidden and protected by sungoggles and a large hood. He wore light clothing but he was protected by arm and legguards.  
The driver deducted that this man knew fighting. If the situation turned out for the worst, he would have been screwed. In those conditions the driver couldn't even run away fast.  
"Who else follows you?" The sniper's voice was husky. He surely didn't use it for a long time. And where was that accent from?  
"No one." The driver coughed. The sand entered his airways, but he couldn't put his hands down to proctet them. "They were the only ones."  
The sniper nodded at the cargo of the cars. "What's in there?"  
"Bullets," Spat the driver, knowing that it was a sniper's first need. "Many of them. Fuel, water. You can have them. Just leave my car to me. I will leave."  
This was the strangest negotiation the driver ever did. The sniper didn't kill him right away to take everything and his nerves were so tense because why the hell didn't he do that?  
Not that the driver looked forward to it.  
"Leave the stuff here." The sniper pointed out the way.  
As the air became difficult to breathe, they made their way through the rocks, up a hidden pathway and through the sides of an old metal door.  
They entered a dark chamber. It was long, wide, and the walls, the ceiling and the floor were made of partially rusted metal painted dark red a long ago.  
"Stop." The sniper had held his gun barrel pressed against the back of the driver for all the way to his hideout. He finally moved it and pulled a rickety metal table in front of his host.  
"Weapons."  
The driver obeyed.

Unloaded gun. Crowbar. A long knife. A bottle big enough to make a good fire bomb.  
The man stood in front of the sniper as if he had nothing more to declare.  
Did that guy think that he had him fooled?  
The sniper lowered. He snatched a hidden bowie knife from the lame driver's legguard and threw it on the table together with the other battered weapons.  
"Legs spread." He pointed at them with his rifle. "Hands on your head." The driver obeyed once more and the sniper trailed his entire body with his gun barrel in search of hidden weapons. When he undelicatley pressed the wound, the driver hissed in pain but remained still. He ransacked his pockets and jacket only to find a piece of cloth, matches, a water flask and a compass maddened by the magnetic sandstorm that was raging outside the hiding place.  
Once it was all displayed on the table, the host was ordered to walk along.

The container was connected to others, creating a devious corridor to the wider room where the sniper lived and guarded his place. There was a small fire in the corner. The smoke went up a gap in the rocky ceiling.  
Apart for the light smoke it was a spot impossible to find from where the driver came from, high up the mount and hidden by rocks.  
The sniper dragged a wide metal plate to the opening and isolated the hideout from the sandstorm. Then he turned to his host and ripped the goggles and the hood off his face.  
Stubble, one side of the head shaven, no symbols tattooed, no markings of some specific gang. His features looked nice.  
"Sit." He took a bag and kneeled to the driver. "Your jacket. Off."  
As he cleaned and medicated the wound with water and argil mixture, the only sounds in the room were the perpetual wind storming on the outside and some loud thunder. It was a dry lullaby that the driver knew well.  
"How long do you think it will last?" Asked the driver, even if he knew the answer.  
"Half a day. Maybe a little more." The man responded while bandaging the wound.  
Now that he was close, the driver could see him better, even in the weak gleam of the fire. His face was fine, softer than those he had seen wandering the Wasteland. He had caught glimpses of his rare blue eyes, blue as the vastness of the sky above them, now shrouded by the storm. Blue like the Great Water they told him about as a kid, now dried by the sands.  
"Your hand." The sniper was saying, nodding at it. "Something broken?"  
"It's going to be fine." said the driver, articulating his fingers and wincing at the stinging pain. He let the sniper clean the scratches and bandaging it.  
When he was done, he put the bag away. Then he sat and started cleaning his weapon.

"You have the finest sight." Said the lame driver sitting against the wall behind him, relaxing his muscles.  
"I know."  
"Why are you in here?"  
The sniper glared at him.  
"I mean, do you live in this place? Do you work for someone?"  
"Do you?"  
The driver remained silent for a bit.  
"Why were they hunting you down?" Asked the man continuing his work.  
"There was a misunderstanding." Said the host reluctantly.  
"Of what kind?"  
"I don't even know what they got wrong, but one moment they were doing their business and the other they were fucking stalking me to rip me to pieces."  
"Sounds strange to me."  
The driver lifted his chin up. Their gazes met. "So it does to me."  
Silence fell. Time passed.  
The driver cuddled himself on the bedding beneath him and dozed off.

When he awoke the sniper approached him. "Now listen. You tell me what really happened. I give you something to eat."  
The lame driver sighed as he sat up.  
He pondered his thoughts and then he confessed. "They must have found something wrong with the message and the cargo I brought them from the boss. They got mad and attacked me even if it wasn't my fault. My party abandoned me."  
"Did the boss himself give your party those orders?"  
"I thought about it. I hope not. It could be."  
He observed his host, who sighed and shoved his head back against the wall.  
The man wore glasses secured to an elastic band that he had not put down until this very moment. He was rubbing his eyes and face to get rid of the dirt.  
His eyes were brown and green at the same time, the colour of the fresh moss that once grew on the rocks back home. How long it had been. There was a word for that colour, the sniper was shure about it, but he couldn't recollect it in his mind.  
There were scars upon his eyelids. They were thin, vertical and horribly regular, as if someone did that on purpose.  
He wore light garments beside his armored jacket, arm and legguards, empty cartridge cases on his belt and across his sternum.  
The guy was some kind of war messenger. He had not received a complete training, or so his physique suggested. He was not a killer beast but he knew how to defend himself and negotiate. He must had been easily replaceable to his leader, too.  
The sniper stood to put his rifle into place.  
"You would be a worthy element for a warlord, you know."  
"What do you mean?" Asked the sniper.  
"You would be payed well. Regarded and acknowledged. Only the best ones we have hit that way."  
"Are you offering me to ally with your leader?"  
"Maybe." He lent on the wall and got up. As he turned and bent to support himself, the fabric of his shirt that covered the back of his neck lowered. The sniper caught a glimpse of a circular mark. A mark the sniper knew well.  
"Maybe if you came back to the Fort with me we both could have a better life."

The driver found himself dragged up, barely on his legs, pressed against the wall.  
"Listen, you." the sniper was saying, azure eyes lightened by annoyance and anger. "I would rather die." He spat, moving away and leaving his host to lean aginst the wall.  
"Alright." He panted, "Alright. I didn't mean to offend you."  
"You don't understand. When I say that I would rather die," He got out a handgun from his belt and aimed at the driver's face. "I mean that if you were able to beat me up and drag me to your boss, I would shoot myself in the brain in this very moment."  
"I was making an offer." The guest straightened himself up. "I mean no harm."  
The sniper snorted with bitter laughter. "I know you mean no harm in your little, fire-branded submissive head."  
The driver felt the back of his neck painlessly burn in his mind.  
The sniper was walking back from where he came, putting his gun away. The driver observed him, more and more curious about the man who had just raged against the proposition that would have been welcomed by anyone else roaming the Wasteland. 

It took all day for the storm to pass. When it did, night had fallen and the desert was all cobalt blue. Shadow shrouded the canyon and a cold breeze was flowing through it, still carrying some static energy from the storm.  
The sniper had given food and water to his guest. The man had thanked him, devoured his portion and then had nestled on his bedding once again and had fallen asleep.  
His breaths were becoming deep and regular. His striped eyelids fluttered lightly now and then. The sniper decided to keep him under control for some more time before going to sleep. He had the gun in hand, ready to hit if he had to.  
But the night passed safely. The driver slept like a dead rock until the sniper decided to wake him up early in the morning.  
His intention was to gently shake him awake, but the second he placed his hand on the driver's shoulder, the man came to his senses, eyes wide open.  
The sniper caught the hands of the driver before he could hit him. "Easy, man," he soothed, sounding louder than he meant to. The eyes of the driver finally focused.  
"Easy. Damn."  
The driver loosened his grip, taking a deep breath. His heart was racing.  
"Your wound. Does it hurt?"  
"A little."  
"Can you move?"  
"Yeah. I'm good."  
"Good. It's healing. Change your bandages. Then you will help me looting some stuff down in the canyon."

They slowly descended into the little valley between the red mountains.  
The four bodies of the pursuers had been swept deeper into the canyon by the storm. The remains they found suggested a nocturnal feast by something -or someone- roaming the canyon during the nighttime.  
The driver approached his vehicle and discovered that there was no serious damage, at least nothing he couldn't fix by himself with the help of some surviving pieces picked up from the other crashed cars. He didn't bother asking the sniper if he knew about motors and cars and if he could assist in repairing his vehicle.  
The driver helped the sniper looting the items needed. The man took the bullets, the fuel, but didn't even look at the gallons of water the chasers carried.  
The driver was intrigued. In fact, the water he was given the night before was probably the nicest he had ever tasted. He could have bet that it was almost pure and that it contained no radiations whatsoever.  
The driver observed the way from where they came, all the way up to the sniper's hideout.  
"Fort man," called out the sniper from behind a crashed car. "come and make yourself useful."

They finished transfering the items up in the hideout and came back to check for some more helpful stuff. Then they dismantled most of the broken vehicles and managed to hide the surviving one wheeling it in a rocky natural cavity where it was safe enough.  
They day had been too tiring for the driver.  
He collapsed to the ground sitting with his back against the vehicle, his breath heavy. He held his wound and closed his eyes.  
The sniper let him rest. He had done well, even if weakened and tired.

"Your plan," The sniper said once they had returned up the rocks, "Was returning to your leader with a trophy."  
"I would define you that, yes."  
"So you would go back."  
The driver nodded.  
"After what they did to you."  
"Out here everything kills you."  
The sniper turned to meet the green-brown gaze of the driver. A flow of empathy possessed him. His guest couldn't survive alone, he knew it, and going back was the only thing he could do.  
He was the saddest kind of survivor.  
The sniper nodded at his eyelids. "Did they do that to you?"  
"No, I did it myself."  
The frightening thing was the lack of irony in his words.  
The sniper remained silent, hoping that would be enough to encourage the driver to speak.  
"I was taken when I was little. I was healthy, but my eyesight grew bad. They didn't know what to do with me. So they had me in cell in the meantime and made me do some work in there. My eyesight got worse. You know, the dark. The sickness. There was rarely someone new to talk to. Boredom drove us mad down there." He snorted in laughter. "Quite literally. And so I did it."  
He pointed at his eyelids, shaking his index finger in front of his face up and down.  
"I was not the only one. Others made worse."  
"You were one of those they use for war."  
"I was not that good." The driver shook his head, similing bitterly. "And it's partly because of that that I am alive now."

They remained silent for some time. Then the sniper addressed the driver.  
"The way you killed those guys, yesterday. You're not bad."  
The driver nodded.  
"I've been attacked by some scavengers lately. They were difficult to fight and they will come back ."  
Why would scavengers be interested in this place? There were not great treasures. At least it seemed.  
"I'll offer you shelter if you help me through their raids."  
"Are you offering me a job?" The driver grinned.  
"You can go back to your warlord and hope for the best or you can help me and have a roof upon your head and food to eat for a long period of time. Those guys will not return until they recompose and recruit some rookies or find cannon fodder."  
The driver softened his brown-green glare. His mind raced for some instants. He understood the sniper's fear and need. Then he thought of the water and the almost perfect hideout.  
"Alright. Deal." He finally nodded. "What is your name?"  
The sniper remained silent.  
"How should I call you?" Reformulated the driver.  
"Vasya. Call me Vasya."  
"I am Dan. And I am grateful."  
"I don't trust you, Fort man." Said the sniper looking at him in the eye. "Fly down."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danilov and Vassili, road warriors.

Danilov threw the last enemy to the ground and drove the stake into his head. The cranium gave in at the third thrust. Blood and brains quenched the thirst of the soil.  
He finally stopped hitting, sweat dripping from his forehead, nose and chin.  
He lifted his head in search of Vassili to find him a few steps away, moving his dagger out of a corpse with a dry movement. He looked tired.  
Danilov leaned on the stake and allowed himself to catch his breath. The camp was clear.  
"Are you okay?" asked Danilov after a while walking up to Vassili.  
Blue eyes lighted up the dirty face. "I'm good." He said, stumbling forward.  
A little dented, thought Danilov.  
"Something hurts?"  
"My foot."  
"Can you walk?"  
"I can." Stated Vassili declining Danilov's gesture to help him. "You?"  
"I'm okay."  
"You better be."  
There were about ten bodies surrounding them, the only sound in the air was the wind blowing through the tents and the metal walls. Everything else was quiet or dead.  
Danilov pulled his glasses off and wiped the blood and the dirt off of his face. He sat in the shadow of the mountains towering over the camp.  
"What a day," he sighed.

They moved around the dusty center of the camp, looting the bodies.  
Vassili's limping was growing evident and Danilov helped him climbing the ladders that lead to the higher level of the camp, built in metal walls very similar to those of their own hideout.  
The duo was now walking along the bridges fenced with metal railings that served as home and workplace to the guards and the snipers of the camp. Vassili had taken out all of them from a distance before attacking the camp directly. They still laid where they had dropped.  
The sniper walked straight to the tent where the munitions were kept.  
"Nice shots." Said Danilov towering over the dead bodies, poking them with his foot.  
"Yeah." murmured Vassili focused on collecting the bullets he had found.  
"Leadslinger" They heard from the corner of the fenced bridge.  
"You, leadslinger," The voice was harsh and it felt like it came from another world. It belonged to a man with a mushy red hole in his torso. He almost couldn't breathe, the bullet had pierced his lung. Pale as a ghost, his features were strong and scrawny, dark circles under his eyes. "You'll burn," he was saying, staring at Vassili.  
"Look." Teased Danilov grabbing a stake. "You missed."  
"You'll burn," continued the deliruous man staring straight into Vassili's eyes. "You'll burn."  
"Everybody will, mate." Danilov drove the stake into the man's chest, piercing it at the third blow, drilling blood from the good lung at the fifth one. The air left the corpse's throat with a hiss, like in a flat tire. Danilov turned to Vassili.  
The driver was panting, sweaty, his eyes out of focus. The adrenaline from the fighting had flown away and he was growing weary. He dropped the stake to the ground and walked up to the sniper.  
"Come, let's take what we need and leave." Said Vassili leading his companion.  
"And what do we need?"  
"The usual."

While scavenging they found a ladder that dove deep into the bare rock. The underground passages of the camp lead to a cave facing a cliff. It was impossible to enter it from the outside.  
They found three more roadkills that had hidden trying to escape the fighting. They were scared and hopeless but didn't give in easily. Like animals trying to protect their pups. What were they guarding in this camp?  
Some more steps further into the rocks and Danilov and Vassili had their answer. Deep from within the cave came the unmistakeable, feeble, but glorious sound of running water.

The cave was wide, illuminated by both natural light and fire. The duo took some time to explore its passages. They were humid and cold. Some were natural, some artificially dug into the grey rock. They came to a large stone platform where the water sound was the strongest. There were some tables against the wall and they were covered in mess tins, cases and containers. Light poured gently from openings on the ceiling.  
"Look," Said Danilov running up to the end of the platform.  
The rocks oozed water into a clear, large puddle. It transformed into a stream that disappeared through the cold stones of the underground.  
"So this is what they were guarding." muttered Danilov looking around. No one could have ever deduced the spring from the outside.  
He hovered the Geiger counter over the crystalline pool. No clicking sound came from the device.  
"It's clean."  
"Pure?" Said Vassili walking up to him.  
"Like a soft virgin."  
Danilov filled his water flask and swallowed half of it. Then he handed it to Vassili, who drank a tiny sip and nodded. "It's good."

They placed their weapons on the ground, they undressed and they washed the dirt and the blood away from their limbs and faces.  
As if performing a rite, Vassili bowed his head and Danilov proceeded washing him.  
It was during these silences in which he wondered. There he was. Washing the brains of a dead roadkill off the sniper's hair. There he was. His head and back now being rubbed clean by Vassili's hands.

"Are you shure you want to drive back right away?"  
Some hours had passed since the sunset. They had eaten the stuff they had found around the camp and they had drunk a lot of water. The desert was a vibrant indigo background against the orange figure of Vassili in front of the fire they had arranged.  
"Yes." stated he.  
Silence. Just the crackling sound of the fire that Vassili was handling.  
After some minutes, Danilov spoke again. "There's a running water spring under these rocks."  
"I saw it." Said the sniper, not quitting his work.  
"The spring we have is not as pure as this one."  
"We are good."  
"Yes. But it could always be better."  
Vassili didn't react.  
"Listen. I am just saying the truth. This camp was worth the fight. It's high, the view is clear. You could take down anyone within miles."  
"It's too big."  
"Not so much. We could take in someone else."  
"I won't." Vassili's tone started to sound harsh. His eyes lighted up with a grim glare.  
Danilov backed off. He had learned to recognise the signals from his companion. When he had that face the next stop was a hit or a not so harmless threat.  
Now they owned this place. It stenched of death and oil but one had to admit it was a nice place where to settle down. Maybe start some activity. Establish some storages, trading some goods.  
Danilov observed the man in front of him. The sniper didn't clear the camp to keep it for him, and this was the strangest thing the driver had ever witnessed roaming the Wasteland. Well, except for that time in which his own life was spared by the sniper. Why? Damn, why?  
Vassily finally abandoned the fire and focused on Danilov. He got closer to him and Danilov stiffened, but immediately relaxed when he realised that Vassili hadn't gotten closer to threaten him.  
"I don't trust it here. How much time do you think it will pass before they know this camp fell? The treasure under our feet is too precious. They surely know about it. They will come here to take it from us as we did today, sooner or later. How much will it pass, a day? A week, a year? I can't predict it. The aim was killing the bastards that would had killed me. We've done it. We go back."  
Danilov stretched against his bedding. "Right. Are you shure you don't want to blow up some stuff before leaving? You know, since you aren't doing anything with this place."  
"My survival instinct is clearly stronger than yours."  
Danilov almost smiled at this but then didn't. Luckily his companion didn't catch the hesitation on his face.  
He laid down for the night and observed Vassili every now and then behind the flames.  
Was he just that headstrong or did he have something else to protect in his hideout beside the water spring?

He had revealed the spring to Danilov only after two weeks. It was good water, the kind you don't easily find in the desert, the kind that doesn't get you killed.  
When Vassili showed him the hidden place deep in the rocks of the hideout he was not surprised.  
But what else could there possibly be? He couldn't tell.  
Even when Danilov had been sure about the water, in the rare moments in which he had been left alone he hadn't even tried to investigate. Vassili would kill him if he found him wandering around the place without his consent. No, worse, he would have thrown him out without supplies or weapons, destined to become just a pile of flesh in the sand. A dead man walking.  
He thought about Vassili's dominant glare and about his hands through his hair earlier that day.  
He thought about the stinging freshness of the water that flowed under the ground where he was lying in that very moment. He could still feel it there, nestled aroud the fire where the sand was warm and soft.  
That night his dreams were of frost and flames.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danilov and Vassili, survivors

Danilov woke at dawn with an hardness. He got rid of it quickly, spilling on the sand. He cleaned himself and looked around him. Vassili slept still. Danilov was a little grateful that this time he had been undetected.  
They didn't mind seeying or hearing stuff from each other overnight and in the morning. It had happened sometimes since Vassili let him in.  
He sat, observing the sniper. It didn't happen that often and he enjoyed that simple situation. Vassili had shaved recently. His face looked younger and purer, almost naive. Danilov knew better.  
Short after Vassili woke, opening his eyes slowly. A breath of sky after years of brownish ground.

They drove away early in the morning, the car loaded with supplies, hidden as good as it was possible. Gallons of water, bullets, food, tools, fuel.  
They drove undisturbed for some miles. Then suddenly a ominous, distant noise haunted their homecoming.

Engine roars, cars on the horizon.  
Vassili turned. Leaned out the window and looked through the finder. "Fuck," he cried. "They're gonna catch up on us."  
"How many?"  
"Three cars. Six of them."  
"Who the fuck are they?"  
"Fucking explorers from the camp, I bet. You keep driving."  
"I can't go any faster. We should throw the stuff-"  
"I know, you keep goin'."

"They' re catching up!"  
"I know." Said Danilov looking back. They were so close that he could distinguish the people inside the cars.  
"Stop." Ordered Vassili.  
"Are you sure?"  
"Stop right now, I tell you!"  
Danilov slammed on the brakes.  
Vassili got out of the car and aimed.  
Danilov prayed.  
One. Two.   
The Driver and the passenger of the first car were taken down and their car derailed.  
Three.  
The Driver of the second vehicle died but the Lancer jumped and rolled in the sand.  
Vassili re entered the car. "Go, go, go!", he yelled.  
Danilov obeyed.  
Four.  
The Lancer died falling on the ground.  
Danilov pushed the gas pedal harder than he ever did in his lifetime but it wasn't enough.  
They were hit by the third car that drew near, a lot faster than them.  
Danilov jammed on the brackes and let the enemies hurtle forward. He shifted into reverse and maneuvered. He looked forward, and saw the Lancer wielding a thunderstick.  
He braked abruptly.  
He heard a loud bang and loud voices, saw a bright flash.

When his vision refocused a little he saw Vassili fighting one of them. The guy was skinny, angry and dangerous. Vassili took some dreadful blows. Somewhere in that tangled confusion Danilov saw the grim glean of a blade.  
Danilov crawled out of the car, bloody and plodding.  
He took his gun and aimed. His sight was still blurry, the sounds all around him muffled, his reflexes poor. He feared hitting Vassili.  
I have to, he thought. I have to take the risk.  
He aimed for the enemy as best as he could, and shoot.  
Both Vassili and the guy fell to the ground, one under the weight of the other.  
Then Danilov heard a hiss and felt a terrible, unbearable sudden pain on the back of his head.  
He fell to his knees, helpless, the back of his head wet and warm in blood. Gasping for air, he cried in the sand. He fought oblivion.  
He raised his head to see Vassili in front of him aiming at the one behind his back. His hands were dripping blood. He heard him shoot, azure wrath in his eyes.  
And then the world went black.

He came to on a backseat. Someone was driving.  
He got up fast as light.   
The car turned out to be his. The driver was Vassili.   
"Lay the fuck down," he said.  
Danilov had moved too fast. His head was sore and spinning and he fell back on the seat while a mild nausea possessed him.  
He looked at Vassili. Both his hands were tightly wrapped in cloth that had become dark red. It was difficult for him to steer the wheel.  
"The bastard had knives." Stated Vassili. "I'm okay. You?"  
"Fine." Lied Danilov.  
"Still you?"  
"I think."  
"You better be."  
Too bad Danilov had no energy nor enough wits to respond to that or to do anything else. He watched Vassili's back and scruff for some more time. It was enough for him. Then his mind slipped once more into darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my first language. Contact me if you find some grammatical horror in this one.  
> Thanks to Denise for putting up with me & Danilov


End file.
